


The Edges

by Skullszeyes



Series: Touch Of Salvation [3]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Boys Kissing, Childhood Friends, Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sequel, Swearing, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 14:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19007476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullszeyes/pseuds/Skullszeyes
Summary: Yata can't sleep, so he heads over to Fushimi's to take over his bed.





	The Edges

**Author's Note:**

> This will be continuation from the other fics, although maybe it could stand on its own if you ignore the context. :) The implied self harm is scratching. I will also be switching between POV's with each fic I write for these two. And, I won't be adding any of the other characters. It'll just be Yata and Fushimi!
> 
> Comments and/or Kudo's are appreciated.

He didn’t care. He told himself that constantly when he hung out with HOMRA, when he went home, when he looked himself in the mirror after a shower. He did not care. He didn’t. Except his fingers would find those red marks on his neck where Saruhiko had placed his mouth. He was never gentle, never soft, always dragging out a forced moan from Yata’s lips. He wanted something from him, a mark on his skin, a scar on his mind, his words echoing hatred in his ear.

It was always Saruhiko’s way of punishing Yata for the things that happened in the past. A way to tell him that he cared way too much, and nothing was going to fix it, even if he bit too hard into his neck, along his collarbone, sucking the skin until it bloomed a dark red color, or even a bluish and purple paint spill made by the press of his teeth.

Yata stared at his reflection, water dripped from the tips of his strands while he lightly grazed the fading marks that were beginning to lighten into a yellowish hue.

He didn’t care.

Yata pushed his blunt fingernails into his skin where those marks were.

He didn’t care.

He pushed and pushed and dragged along the skin at the edges, before starting over, pinpricks of pain flushed in red streaks. Yata bit down on his bottom lip at the puffy skin, his hands shaking, his cheeks warmed at what he was doing to himself. And then he stopped, staring at his reflection with a slight shame.

It wasn’t the same.

“I might as well be masturbating,” Yata muttered, leaving the bathroom. He crawled under the blankets and tried to sleep. Closing his eyes, then reopening them, and then closing them again.

The feeling wouldn’t fade, and he scratched the marks again, groaning quietly into his blankets. An hour passed, then another, and Yata swore at him at everything and himself. He flipped the blankets, found his pair of pants, his shirt, pulled on his sweater, and tied his shoes up before leaving the apartment.

He didn’t want to think about it as he headed down the street, mostly glaring at the wet pavement reflecting light from the streetlamps and buildings, listening as cars drove by, and a group of people talking in rushed and uneven tones. He took out his earphones and tucked them into his ears.

No one bothered him, everyone knew better than to do that. He had the aura of someone who didn’t take anyone’s shit. And he certainly wasn’t going too, and not from _him._

There was a way to appease him, and usually it flew over Yata’s head. Except over the years with his temperament, Yata learned of what he needed to do. And usually it ended up with Yata regretting the entire exchange between them.

It didn’t matter, he was there, nothing was going to stop him as he stood in front of the door and regretted giving Saruhiko the card back. He didn’t deserve it for the shit he put him through, at least not at three in the morning after a week of not seeing each other.

Why couldn’t he hold off a bit longer?

Yata glared, “Fuck it.” He knocked on the door, and when he didn’t answer, he kicked the door a few times, and had the urge to melt the door itself. Except he heard the door unlock, and it opened.

His glare was still prominent as he stared up at Saruhiko’s disheveled appearance, and aggravated glare. He hated when he had to wake up early like this, but did it matter to Yata, no, it didn’t.

“What? Couldn’t break in this time?” Saruhiko asked, smirking, but this was more of a jab, something not exactly meant to be half hearted.

“Shut the fuck up,” Yata said, pushing past him and into the apartment. Saruhiko yawned, and seemed to have gone still behind him while Yata began taking off his shoes, throwing his sweater onto the couch, including his beanie, and making his way towards Saruhiko’s room.

“What are you doing?” he asked, closing the door and locking it.

“What do you think?” Yata scoffed, shaking his head at Saruhiko’s dumb question. “Aren’t you supposed to be a smart ass or something?”

Saruhiko said nothing as he followed Yata who had stepped into the bedroom, there was a slight mess, but he disregarded it as he crawled onto the bed, and curled under the blankets.

“Well, we haven’t had sleepovers since we were kids,” Saruhiko said, clicking his tongue. He wasn’t in the mood for Yata’s nonsense, but again, Yata did not care. He wanted to sleep and he wanted Saruhiko to shut the fuck up.

“Sleep in the living room if you’re so damn bothered,” Yata murmured under the blankets, closing his eyes, and breathing in Saruhiko’s clean blankets, and growing comfortable upon his soft pillows. It was a lot better than his bedroom at his own apartment, and his eyes were getting heavier by the second.

“This is my apartment,” Saruhiko said, the side of the bed growing heavy as he knelt down, grasping the blanket and about to pull it away from Yata.

“Fuck off.”

“And my bed,” Saruhiko said through gritted teeth, “and my blankets!”

Yata rolled away from Saruhiko, the blankets wrapping around Yata’s body until he fell off the edge. Grunting when he hit the floor, but the blankets mostly breaking the fall and making the floor comfortable.

“Misaki,” Saruhiko said, leaning over and staring down at Yata who peered up at him.

“Go away,” Yata murmured, closing his eyes.

“I should be saying that to you!”

Yata grumbled out a swear as Saruhiko stepped on the other side of Yata’s body, bent down and grabbed a hold of Yata’s arms within the blankets, and pulled him up.

“Get on the bed,” Saruhiko said.

Yata pushes himself up, glaring at Saruhiko who stares back at him with a monotonous look. Every time something happens between them, somehow it always ends up being Yata’s fault. And when it becomes Saruhiko’s fault, he takes it in like some kind of sponge.

He hates it.

Yata grabs Saruhiko’s arm, watching the look of surprise flashing on his face when Yata pushes him down, both of them falling onto the bed.

“I hate you,” Yata whispers, gripping Saruhiko’s shirt.

“Why are you here then?” Saruhiko asks, staying still on his back.

Why was he here? Why couldn’t he sleep? Why did he get up and walk to his apartment and barge in so he could take over his bed? Why?

Yata closed his eyes, knowing the answer, his own heart is beating with that same undeniable pain because it knows. He wishes he didn’t have to say it, and that if he kept quiet, he could tuck it inside of his heart and leave it there to fester.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his face warming at the vulnerability he was placing himself in.

Saruhiko scoffed. “Make up your mind, Misaki. It’s getting annoying.”

Yata let out an irritated sigh before getting up and glaring at Saruhiko who stared at him. Again, his expression changed when Yata crawled on top of him and settled in his lap, hands on his chest. “I want you to stay!” His cheeks were warm, but he didn’t budge.

He hated it when Saruhiko looked at him as if he won. It was an ugly sight, but Yata wasn’t about to back out just because he crawled onto Saruhiko’s lap.

Saruhiko moved up, and Yata tensed as Saruhiko’s hands gripped Yata's waist, a slight indication he was afraid Yata might back out. “Is that why you’re scratching your neck?” He leaned forward, making Yata shudder. “You miss me?”

He always looked for the gaps, the thoughts, the words, and enjoyed the broken in Yata where he could touch and prod, and whispered simple words that eased a razor against his skin. A searing touch that never left him with a reminder that he was never his own, even how far apart they were, even how broken they were when they shared similar edges.

Yata leaned his forehead against Saruhiko’s, and said in the quiet of the room, “Yes, I missed you.”

“Is that all?”

Yata glared. The most important, the one he cut himself upon, to destroy himself, and pull himself back to his feet even how much it hurt to be apart. Always and forever apart, their friendship teetered back and forth on that truth.

“I miss you,” Yata repeated, and kissed Saruhiko, pushing him down onto the bed, under the blankets, where their edges were pushed back together.

Whole, for now.


End file.
